An Angel In Hell
by FridayNightScars
Summary: Just a series of short stories based on our favorite Phantom. Rating just to be safe!
1. Chapter 1

His feather pen slipped into the small jar of ink, then returned to the faded paper to once again scrawl in

elegant handwriting the matched notes of his newest creation. By the faded candle light he worked for hours, his hands -something he had no control over- flitted over the smooth ivory keys in front of him. While outside the sun slowly drifted into the sky, in his underground labyrinth of solitude, his eyelids slowly sank. At the peak of day he finally retired to his plush bed. Though full and thick with crushed velvet and wolf furs, it was cold and empty. He sat his porcelain skin on his nightstand, his light fingers trailing across it with a longing he dared not to hide. His fingers slipped away as is eyes closed. His lips parted and a sound, deep and lush escaped. The word, nothing but a mundane name, the beauty of his voice, what gave that sound any purpose at all, was the meaning behind it.

"Erik,"

In his mind she laughed, her eyes crinkling lightly. "You must stop fidgeting." Christine's nimble fingers tugged on the needle she was threading through his shirt.

"Ow." He teased her as she gently pricked him. The truth was, though, he'd never admit it to anyone, he was nervous. This was to be their first dinner as MM. and M. Daae. Everyone knew who Christine Daae was, not a soul would know Christine Dressler…

She gently smacked his arm and finished the last stitch. "There. I'll be ready in just a moment." Christine disappeared from the bedroom, leaving Erik alone. He sat on the bed with a sigh.

Erik picked up his mask, the perfectly smooth porcelain calming him. Christine had mastered the art of changing the subject when his mask was brought up, but still, a certain guilt rested in his chest when he thought of all the trouble she had to go through.

Another part of him wanted to stay there, alone, not burdening her with his presence. And, yet, the last part of him wanted to be with her, scared to leave her side and scared for her to leave his. He looked up as she walked into the room, pristine and perfect as always. Her face fell, seeing him there. She sighed softly and sat down next to him, putting her arm around his shoulders.

"Darling," She said softly, gripping his hand.

He smiled tightly, "Are we to go then?" Erik slipped the mask over his face and held his hand out to her.

? ? ?

With shaking hands he helped her down from the carriage. His nerves were pulled taunt. Christine was walking in with the only person wearing a mask for no reason of apparent. Then again… With Christine on his arm, perhaps not much attention would be paid to him. All eyes on her…

They walked through the dining hall, retreating to the back of the room where doors (French doors, but they're in France, and I'm guessing they just call them doors…) stood propped open, a full meal set out surrounded by five chairs. Joining them would be a lovely ballerina and her husband, as well as a chorus girl a bit too inspired by Christine and a bit too fond of Erik.

They were the first to arrive, and glad of it, finding the chance to eat in peace for a spell.

Erik sighed and stood up, walking to the edge of the balcony. He gripped the railing and closed his eyes. While the sun had nearly set and twilight was thick in the air, his eyes still ached at the light. It was going to take some getting used too, after almost 17 years in the dark… A lot of things would take getting used too.

"Oh, dear, do forgive us. Our carriage was late." A deep voice said, causing Erik to turn around. It appeared the ballerina had arrived, her husband in tow. Along with the lone chorus girl, a bit too powdered and primped for the small diner she was attending.

"Don't fret." Christine smiled, "We only arrived a few moments ago."

"Excellent." MM. Ayon, the husband of the ballerina - Michel and Basil- said, "Ah, and you must be the famous Erik Daae, an honor to meet you." He extended his hand, and -after a stern look from Christine- Erik shook it firmly.

"Christine." Alice -the chorus girl- took Christine into her arms. "Oh, how I've been looking forward to this." She smiled and turned to Erik. "Messieur Daae, what an honor."

Erik smiled tightly. The girl's false smile, the contempt hiding in her eyes, disgusted him. He pulled Christine's chair out, and helped her sit. Alice seemed to be waiting for the same treatment, but Erik sat without a second glance her way.

The group chattered about, excluding Erik, who simply threaded his fingers and sat in silence. What he wouldn't give to be back in his home.

"Do forgive me," Alice laughed, her fifth glass of wine firmly pressed to her lips, "But I wasn't informed this was a masquerade!"

Silence fell over the table. Christine cleared her throat. "Little Basil, I-"

"My dear Christine! A handsome man like that, I would insist on seeing… all of him." She trailed off at the end, lifting her eyebrow.

Erik cleared his throat, "If you'll excuse me." He rose from his chair.

Little Basil (The name 'little' was given to all of the ballerina's until they became of age…) laughed, "Alice darling you've had to much to drink. Surely Messiuer Erik uses it for inspiration."

Her husband laughed, "I'm sure, no ghastly sercrets hiding are there-"

Erik swept his hand across the table, sending plates and glasses flying. "I shall not sit here and be mocked by small minded, petty insects." He stormed out the doors, knocking over a table and waiter upon his exit.

Christine glared, "Do none of you have the decency to leave well enough alone?" She followed Erik, calling his name.

"'Erik!" She followed him out a side door which led to a small alley-way between the buildings. He was muttering to himself.

"Insolent, prying maggots…"

"Erik, let us just go home."

"Home? To our ghastly secret? No hiding there!" He grabbed her arm and yanked her in close, "This will not end Christine!"

Christine's eyes water, his grip on her creating bruises. She looked away, more tears dripping from her eyes, "Erik, I don't want it to end." A quite sob racked her body.

His eyes softened and he released her arm, guilt consuming him.

"Christine." He said softly, almost singing. She turned away and began to walk. He followed her silently to the awaiting carriage. She had every right to be upset, and every right to be angry with him. Which, only led to him feeling more guilt. And, regret.

? ? ?

Christine had not spoken to him the rest of the night and retired to bed early.

Erik sat at his piano, absently trying to write. Emotions swirled through his mind. He was angry, angry at himself, angry at that Delighla (While I love the name, Delighla was a derogatory term back then… Sorry.) from dinner. The anger causing him to flip his piano seat and smash a glass of wine against a wall. Regret, and guilt fueled that anger throughout the night.

The sun soon rose and Christine awakened, she had to perform two shows that night. She left without a woed to Erik, who was still sitting at the piano.

As the day progressed he became less agitated at everyone but himself. Not once through the night had Christine shown the slightest hint of embarrassment. To her, it wasn't a problem. The most severe thought she may have had that night was a bit on inconvenience.

Christine returned a few minutes before midnight, a bit flushed from the cold. She walked past Erik and into the powder room. He silently followed her. Christine sat at the bench in front of her mirrors and pulled her earring off, then reached for her necklace.

"Allow me." He said, stepping forward. Erik gently swept her hair aside and began to unclip the heavy diamond from around her neck. He leaned down, holding her shoulder. "Forgive me?"

Christine looked away. Erik sighed softly. He reached up to remove his mask. Christine grabbed his hand.

"Allow me."

Hey guys! I hoped you loved what you just read! Please let me know if I've made any errors and I'll fix them as soon as I can. I'm always open to construction criticism! Don't forget to comment and follow! Until next time!  
P.S. I just wanted to state that most of these stories will be a dream or some kind of fantasy (Kinda like his own little fan-fiction) of Erik's. I might slip in one or two that could have came from Christine, maybe even one from Rahul. Just lemme know!


	2. Chapter 2

His feather pen slipped into the small jar of ink, then returned to the faded paper to once again scrawl in

elegant handwriting the matched notes of his newest creation. By the faded candle light he worked for hours, his hands -something he had no control over- flitted over the smooth ivory keys in front of him. While outside the sun slowly drifted into the sky, in his underground labyrinth of solitude, his eyelids slowly sank. At the peak of day he finally retired to his plush bed. Though full and thick with crushed velvet and wolf furs, it was cold and empty. He sat his porcelain skin on his nightstand, his light fingers trailing across it with a longing he dared not to hide. His fingers slipped away as is eyes closed. His lips parted and a sound, deep and lush escaped. The word, nothing but a mundane name, the beauty of his voice, what gave that sound any purpose at all, was the meaning behind it.

"Erik,"

In his mind she laughed, her eyes crinkling lightly. "You must stop fidgeting." Christine's nimble fingers tugged on the needle she was threading through his shirt.

"Ow." He teased her as she gently pricked him. The truth was, though, he'd never admit it to anyone, he was nervous. This was to be their first dinner as MM. and M. Daae. Everyone knew who Christine Daae was, not a soul would know Christine Dressler…

She gently smacked his arm and finished the last stitch. "There. I'll be ready in just a moment." Christine disappeared from the bedroom, leaving Erik alone. He sat on the bed with a sigh.

Erik picked up his mask, the perfectly smooth porcelain calming him. Christine had mastered the art of changing the subject when his mask was brought up, but still, a certain guilt rested in his chest when he thought of all the trouble she had to go through.

Another part of him wanted to stay there, alone, not burdening her with his presence. And, yet, the last part of him wanted to be with her, scared to leave her side and scared for her to leave his. He looked up as she walked into the room, pristine and perfect as always. Her face fell, seeing him there. She sighed softly and sat down next to him, putting her arm around his shoulders.

"Darling," She said softly, gripping his hand.

He smiled tightly, "Are we to go then?" Erik slipped the mask over his face and held his hand out to her.

? ? ?

With shaking hands he helped her down from the carriage. His nerves were pulled taunt. Christine was walking in with the only person wearing a mask for no reason of apparent. Then again… With Christine on his arm, perhaps not much attention would be paid to him. All eyes on her…

They walked through the dining hall, retreating to the back of the room where doors (French doors, but they're in France, and I'm guessing they just call them doors…) stood propped open, a full meal set out surrounded by five chairs. Joining them would be a lovely ballerina and her husband, as well as a chorus girl a bit too inspired by Christine and a bit too fond of Erik.

They were the first to arrive, and glad of it, finding the chance to eat in peace for a spell.

Erik sighed and stood up, walking to the edge of the balcony. He gripped the railing and closed his eyes. While the sun had nearly set and twilight was thick in the air, his eyes still ached at the light. It was going to take some getting used too, after almost 17 years in the dark… A lot of things would take getting used too.

"Oh, dear, do forgive us. Our carriage was late." A deep voice said, causing Erik to turn around. It appeared the ballerina had arrived, her husband in tow. Along with the lone chorus girl, a bit too powdered and primped for the small diner she was attending.

"Don't fret." Christine smiled, "We only arrived a few moments ago."

"Excellent." MM. Ayon, the husband of the ballerina - Michel and Basil- said, "Ah, and you must be the famous Erik Daae, an honor to meet you." He extended his hand, and -after a stern look from Christine- Erik shook it firmly.

"Christine." Alice -the chorus girl- took Christine into her arms. "Oh, how I've been looking forward to this." She smiled and turned to Erik. "Messieur Daae, what an honor."

Erik smiled tightly. The girl's false smile, the contempt hiding in her eyes, disgusted him. He pulled Christine's chair out, and helped her sit. Alice seemed to be waiting for the same treatment, but Erik sat without a second glance her way.

The group chattered about, excluding Erik, who simply threaded his fingers and sat in silence. What he wouldn't give to be back in his home.

"Do forgive me," Alice laughed, her fifth glass of wine firmly pressed to her lips, "But I wasn't informed this was a masquerade!"

Silence fell over the table. Christine cleared her throat. "Little Basil, I-"

"My dear Christine! A handsome man like that, I would insist on seeing… all of him." She trailed off at the end, lifting her eyebrow.

Erik cleared his throat, "If you'll excuse me." He rose from his chair.

Little Basil (The name 'little' was given to all of the ballerina's until they became of age…) laughed, "Alice darling you've had to much to drink. Surely Messiuer Erik uses it for inspiration."

Her husband laughed, "I'm sure, no ghastly sercrets hiding are there-"

Erik swept his hand across the table, sending plates and glasses flying. "I shall not sit here and be mocked by small minded, petty insects." He stormed out the doors, knocking over a table and waiter upon his exit.

Christine glared, "Do none of you have the decency to leave well enough alone?" She followed Erik, calling his name.

"'Erik!" She followed him out a side door which led to a small alley-way between the buildings. He was muttering to himself.

"Insolent, prying maggots…"

"Erik, let us just go home."

"Home? To our ghastly secret? No hiding there!" He grabbed her arm and yanked her in close, "This will not end Christine!"

Christine's eyes water, his grip on her creating bruises. She looked away, more tears dripping from her eyes, "Erik, I don't want it to end." A quite sob racked her body.

His eyes softened and he released her arm, guilt consuming him.

"Christine." He said softly, almost singing. She turned away and began to walk. He followed her silently to the awaiting carriage. She had every right to be upset, and every right to be angry with him. Which, only led to him feeling more guilt. And, regret.

? ? ?

Christine had not spoken to him the rest of the night and retired to bed early.

Erik sat at his piano, absently trying to write. Emotions swirled through his mind. He was angry, angry at himself, angry at that Delighla (While I love the name, Delighla was a derogatory term back then… Sorry.) from dinner. The anger causing him to flip his piano seat and smash a glass of wine against a wall. Regret, and guilt fueled that anger throughout the night.

The sun soon rose and Christine awakened, she had to perform two shows that night. She left without a woed to Erik, who was still sitting at the piano.

As the day progressed he became less agitated at everyone but himself. Not once through the night had Christine shown the slightest hint of embarrassment. To her, it wasn't a problem. The most severe thought she may have had that night was a bit on inconvenience.

Christine returned a few minutes before midnight, a bit flushed from the cold. She walked past Erik and into the powder room. He silently followed her. Christine sat at the bench in front of her mirrors and pulled her earring off, then reached for her necklace.

"Allow me." He said, stepping forward. Erik gently swept her hair aside and began to unclip the heavy diamond from around her neck. He leaned down, holding her shoulder. "Forgive me?"

Christine looked away. Erik sighed softly. He reached up to remove his mask. Christine grabbed his hand.

"Allow me."

Hey guys! I hoped you loved what you just read! Please let me know if I've made any errors and I'll fix them as soon as I can. I'm always open to construction criticism! Don't forget to comment and follow! Until next time!  
P.S. I just wanted to state that most of these stories will be a dream or some kind of fantasy (Kinda like his own little fan-fiction) of Erik's. I might slip in one or two that could have came from Christine, maybe even one from Rahul. Just lemme know!


	3. Chapter 3

*Spoiler for Love Never Dies, the sequel to Phantom of The Opera*  
*This also delves into a background story written by Jennifer Bassett in her 2009 book*

The Phantom sighed, rubbing his brow. His head had begun to ache and throb after only an hour working on his latest creation. A building, spiraling, expanding upward into the clouds. However, he had to find a way to resist the wind. He set his feather pen down, dried ink staining the quill black. He absently picked up a rose lying on his desk, fraying black ribbon tied around stem.  
He had given a rose like this to Christine years ago, the very day he knew she understood him.  
Sitting alone on the staircase, crying into her little hands. The girls had mocked her, for not being as good a dancer as them, for not having a family, for being alone.  
She knew what it was like from that moment on to be an outcast. To be set aside from the communal mass, though only just.  
The Phantom wanted to show the world, enlighten the masses.  
But, he was cast aside, chained to solitude with no choice. The mystery of his face dejected him from the simple pleasures of quaint life.  
Now, though, he was no longer truly alone. She understood, and her understanding could grow -expand- compass all his pain, anguish, longing.  
The manifestation of his dreams was that day contained in a small child weeping on the stairs. And he was there, as no one had been for him, to quite her tears. Delight her with the simple joy of a red distraction.  
He now wondered if she had kept the token, hidden it away somewhere for years, perhaps forgotten about it through her struggles, and would perhaps -one day- happen upon it while sorting through her forgotten memories.  
What would come to mind when she did discover it? Would she remember the ghost that came to her that day? The ghost who gave her a hint of friendship… Or would she remember the monster behind the mask, the monster who promised to forever only dream of her? Or, though it seemed only possible in his wildest hopes, would she think of his soft voice, nurturing touch, and warm words? Would she be filled with regret, or perhaps a sense of longing? Wondering what became of the Phantom she once called a father, a friend, and an angel…?

? ? ?

Christine pushed aside the paper hat boxes repurposed to hold old documents, letters from fans, and pictures.  
The small boy, presumed product of Raoul and Christine, went through a box of his own ensuring that every image contained was thoroughly licked and sorted.  
"Christine!" Came a bellowing scream. "Christine!"  
Christine sighed softly and stood up, making her way to the top of the stairs, "Darling, I am looking."  
What came next was a string of muttered complaints and profanity she pretended not to hear.  
She returned to the box and lifted a stack of neatly folded documents to sort through, but froze when a crumbling brown rose caught her eye. Tied around the stem was a black satin ribbon, fraying at the ends.  
"How did that get there?" She asked herself softly. Christine sat the papers down and with the gentlest of touches lifted the rose, trailing her fingers across the ribbon.  
Warmth filled her chest and eyes. The last look from his anguished eyes was seared into her mind. What became of him? What became of his genius? Was he still in the Opera house, haunting the managers and demanding wages… Bringing down chandeliers…  
Or, perhaps, had he been discovered? Had they found their Phantom in the darkness? Had be moved on? Found another muse? Had those last words he ever spoke to her been some desperate plea, fear and loneliness urging him to do anything to make her stay?  
The soft crunch of a fallen petal under her shoe shunned that last thought. The day she'd been crying after the other ballet girls had tormented her yet once again.  
He'd been a friend, a father, a monster, but… most of all, he'd been an angel.  
Christine's eyes trailed to her left hand, clutching the rose with the gentlest of urgency's. Upon her finger sat a dazzling stone, catching the light at every angle, making her hand seem small in comparison.  
Cold, unfeeling metal, rock, and light.  
What could the Phantom think of her now? When she trailed into his thoughts, what did he think of?  
The girl who betrayed him, or the lost little girl on the stairs? What did he feel? Christine over the years had concluded that when the Phantom felt, he had no filter. Every emotion was raw, pure, when he felt he felt wholly.  
She knew what she felt every time he crossed her mind, wholly and purely…  
Regret.


End file.
